This is a four part story arc following an extremely cold and ruthless Commander Shepard. Each chapter hints at one thing that defines the commander and the final chapter will reveal what it is. Hopefully, this should be an interesting mystery for the reader and I encourage you to look for clues within the text. The storyline is complete so I should upload all the chapters within a matter of days.

Criticism is always welcome. Enjoy.

~N.Q. Wilder

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Undocumented

Hands folded on top of the desk, ankles crossed beneath her chair, Miranda considered the commander with a steely gaze. Their formal acquaintanceship was only several days old at this point, but Miranda had a two years advantage on the commander. Two years and every scrap of information that existed about the woman. It felt reassuring to see Shepard sitting in her characteristically relaxed posture - or at least relaxed for a soldier - arms crossed beneath her breasts, leaning back with her head resting on the wall behind her and green eyes looking at Miranda with an unreadable expression. That last part, admittedly, bothered Miranda to some degree; after all, her job required that she be able to read the commander perfectly. But it was not unexpected. There were several words that the people she had interviewed about the commander repeated; detached was among the most frequent.

The reason for Shepard's presence in her office was also expected. All previous research had indicated that the commander had a penchant for conversing with her crew, though not for personal reasons. Past records and current surveillance showed that Shepard routinely made rounds to all individuals of the crew in a repetitive order, almost as if she were performing a list of errands. There was no indication that she derived enjoyment from the interactions - with the exception of her talks with Mr. Vakarian, which Miranda noted to keep an eye on - and yet Shepard continued to inquire into the lives of others. Of course, Miranda was smart enough to know that Shepard was probing everyone for information, trying to ferret out where loyalties lied and what made each individual tick. Now it was Ms. Lawson's turn under the microscope, but she hardly minded. She had an undeniable lead on understanding the commander.

"Simply put, Shepard, my job is to make sure that you succeed," she said, answering the commander's earlier question of what exactly Miranda was charged by the Illusive Man to do. "I spent two years of my life bringing you back. I spent two years learning everything about you." Then with a hint of satisfaction she added for emphasis, "I know everything there is to know about you."

But Shepard's reaction sent Miranda fumbling for an explanation. The dark haired woman threw back her head and laughed. That single action defied everything Miranda knew about the commander. No one who had served with Shepard reported hearing her laugh; in fact, many people had gone out of their way to comment that Shepard seemed humorless. The most Miranda had ever managed to find in the woman's past when it came to laughing was perhaps a small, derisive chuckle from time to time, but nothing more. She suddenly felt like a scientist in some uncharted part of space; was she the first to hear something completely undocumented? What did this mean?

"You think you know me?" Shepard said through her laughter. Her voice carried a snide amusement and a hint of a challenge.

Miranda frowned and had to refrain from sniffing indignantly in response. Shepard obviously doubted how thorough Miranda's research had been. People seemed completely unaware of how documented their lives actually were. Everyone left a footprint, and Shepard's was a large one. The challenge Shepard had implied was certainly not lost on Miranda either, and she intended to show the commander just how good she was at her job.

"Shall we start with your life back on earth?" she asked coolly. "Raised as an orphan and ward of the state until age eight when you ran away and joined the Tenth Street Reds. You killed approximately twenty opposing gang members and one fellow red during your rise to lieutenant. However, politics within the gang - resulting primarily from the fact that you killed your predecessor - resulted in you seeking escape from earth via the Alliance Navy."

Miranda was about to jump into Shepard's service history, but Shepard cut her off by leaning forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees and saying, "I don't doubt that you know my entire history." Her face was again unreadable, but those jade colored eyes were like a pot of boiling water with anger threatening to spill over. "You claimed that you knew everything there is to know about me. That's a weighty claim, Ms. Lawson."

Miranda blinked uncertainly and fidgeted in her chair. What else was there to know? Shepard's motivations? She could list off the reasons behind all of Shepard's major decisions. She joined the Alliance to escape the threat against her life. Her behavior on Torfan was in line with her belief that the mission must be completed at any cost. All her decisions in the fight against Saren were cold, pragmatic, careful. Shepard was not a woman of faith. In anything. Not a gambler in the least. She only ever bet on the sure thing. What else was there to know?

"So, let's hear it then, Ms. Lawson," Shepard said. Her voice was a razor edge and Miranda had to suppress a shiver. Then, as if she had been reading Miranda's mind Shepard said, "I'm sure you know that I never leave anything up to chance. But I believe in one thing. The one thing I have faith in despite a lack of proof. So, let's hear it. What is it?"

One thing? Miranda thought. What could it be? Ideas flooded into her mind in no particular order, but each she quickly dismissed, one after another. The Reapers? No, Shepard isn't like the council, she knows there is sufficient proof. Could it be God? No, there's absolutely no indication of a religious leaning. In fact there's evidence to the contrary. Human superiority? No, her friendship with Mr. Vakarian was proof against that - Shepard seemed to give all species equally little consideration. A hundred different ideas came to mind, but they were all just as ridiculous.

"Your drive defines you..." Miranda said softly, trying to buy time while she worked out the answer to Shepard's question. She knew the answer. Surely she did. She just needed time to pick out the right piece of information. "You always accomplish your goal. You have a singular focus on completing the mission." She knew that she was rambling, spitting back the information she had on Shepard. But the answer was there, somewhere. Her drive defined her, made her different from other people. Even Ms. Chambers had commented how atypical Shepard's reaction to being brought back to life was, in her weekly reports. The commander didn't seem to care in the least that she had been dead or that she was brought back from the dead. It was as if when she was told that she was brought back to fight the Reapers, Shepard just shrugged off any concerns about her rebirth, picked up her gun, and charged after the enemy. But what did that mean? What was it that Shepard believed in that would make her respond that way?

However, Miranda was yanked from her thoughts when Shepard suddenly rose to her feet and glared at her from across the desk. Her hands were fists at her side, biotic energy sparking along the length of her arm. The dark haired woman bared her teeth and the muscles around her neck tensed noticeably. Miranda almost pushed herself back from the desk in panic. All reports had indicated that Shepard was rarely angry. To see the commander visibly upset was bad. Really bad. There was no telling what the woman would do with that anger.

"You're dodging the question, Miranda!" Shepard spat. "I didn't ask you to tell me what any person who has ever served with me knows. I asked you to tell me who I am. I asked you to tell me what I believed. The one thing that defines me."

Gripping the edge of her desk as if it were a shield against herself and Shepard's rage, Miranda stared wide eyed at the commander. Completely unprecedented, her mind squeaked. This behavior is completely undocumented. I must have hit a nerve. But Miranda had no idea what nerve she had hit. An answer. She needed an answer.

Wondering what Shepard would do if she offered a wrong guess, Miranda quickly said, "Survival! You believe in survival!"

The thought had come suddenly and she had said it before analyzing it. But it seemed right. Shepard was a survivor. She never gambled with anything that might result in her death. She was careful and pragmatic. She was fighting the Reapers for survival, to live. Miranda smiled with satisfaction. Yes, that was it. Survival. It fit the evidence perfectly.

The biotic energy surrounding Shepard dissipated as her shoulders relaxed and she frowned. The rage behind those jade eyes was gone, replaced by a glassy stare. Miranda had to control herself to keep from letting her smile widen till she was grinning from ear to ear. Winning felt good. Proving that she really did know everything about Shepard felt good. Nothing could escape her grasp.

Shepard's eyes fell to the floor and she seemed to study it thoughtfully. "I guess it was too much to ask for," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

When Miranda heard those words she was suddenly struck with the realization that she had been wrong. She didn't know how she knew, but something about Shepard's voice informed her that her guess had been wrong. And the commander sounded genuinely disappointed. It seemed that Shepard had hoped that Miranda could answer the question. Had wanted desperately to lose the challenge she had set. And looking at the dark haired woman before her, a look of grief etched across every inch of her body, Miranda felt terrible for failing. It went beyond just her disgust at realizing that she didn't know everything about Shepard that she thought she did; she felt like she had failed this woman that she had no reason to owe anything.

Almost as quickly as Shepard's mood had changed to disappointment, it shifted back to her neutral expression. If someone else walked into Miranda's office right then, they would never have an indication of the conversation that just took place. The change was... eerie. It reminded Miranda of how unknown Shepard had just proven herself to be.

"I'll let you get back to work, Miranda," Shepard said in a business-like tone. Turning swiftly on her heel she exited the room while Miranda stared after her.

When the door closed Miranda's lips twisted into a snarl as she slammed her fist on the desk. The datapads sitting in a pile on the corner of the desk jumped several inches in the air at her outburst. That conversation had ended wretchedly. I know everything about, Shepard! Miranda thought bitterly. Nothing in her history indicated she believed in one important thing! She let out a puff of air as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. The whole thing was ridiculous. To think that an individual could be summed up by one thing was just absurd. But here Shepard had just insisted that she was an individual defined by one belief. Maybe the woman was crazy and had no idea what she was talking about.

But Miranda knew that wasn't true. Shepard had been adamant. There was some idea in that brain that defined the woman. Something speculative that she had faith in...

With a violent shake of her head, Miranda pushed herself away from her desk and stood looking out of the window into the open void. There had to be a way to figure out the answer. It was her job after all. The Illusive Man would no doubt watch the surveillance video and see that embarrassing conversation, and he would want some kind of answer from Miranda. Her blue eyes glanced at the terminals at her desk and she thought of the countless files about Shepard on her hard drive. She could scour them again and look for clues. The mental image of the commander standing before her, roiling with biotic energy and demanding an answer from her, filled Miranda's mind. Sighing as she looked back out the window, Miranda knew that looking through the files again would be pointless. The answer, as much as it pained her to admit it, wasn't floating out there in the galaxy. It was unquantifiable. Unknown.

At least one thing about Shepard - the thing that mattered the most - was beyond her grasp. Undocumented.